


In the Kitchen With a Key

by GalaxyGhosty



Series: It Started With the Rain [9]
Category: JackSepticEye (YouTube RPF), Markiplier (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Moving In Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2015-08-07
Packaged: 2018-04-13 10:00:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4517607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyGhosty/pseuds/GalaxyGhosty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. In which, Jack has a habit of leaving his things everywhere, he makes dinner every night, and Mark's got a pretty important question.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Kitchen With a Key

**Author's Note:**

> Oh man. How long has it been? Answer: too long. So sorry!
> 
> I've been so swept up in other projects that I've been neglecting this poor baby. Plus, I haven't been in the best of moods, so it's kind of hard to write fluff. But I'm feeling pretty good today so I wanted to go ahead and get it out. I know this was supposed to be done by mid-July, oops. I do have the rest of the series planned out, however, and it'll end at 15 parts. So about 6 more after this. 
> 
> Can't thank you guys enough for all the support you've been giving me. It really keeps me going, and I appreciate it so, so much. I know this fic is again, long overdue, but I hope it's cute enough. Enjoy!

Jack didn't know when it had started, but at some point, Mark's place stopped being Mark's place and started being _home_.

It was weird how that worked out—but Jack couldn't say he wasn't thrilled about it. It was nice to use the spare key Mark had given him, stick it into the lock, open it, and get a smell of something uniquely _home_ that he had never gotten back at his old place. There was something lovely about coming back to the neat apartment, where things were the right kind of messy—a few books out of place, game controllers strewn about the coffee table—as opposed to hurricane-just-rolled-through look to his place. 

He had his own drawer among Mark's things, too. Once Jack had started spending more time at Mark's apartment, he had started bringing overnight bags—and often times accidentally left various things when leaving in a rush on busy mornings. Mark had figured that he might as well just have some room to store his things, “For the next time you stay,” as he'd put it. The “next time”' became a pretty frequent thing, but Mark never seemed to mind. So that was that. Shirts and jeans and pajamas were folded neatly next to Mark's, and honestly, Jack loved it. His clothes began to smell like Mark, too, and that was a plus.

It got to the point that in collaboration with the spare key, the shared drawer, and the occasional few times where Jack picked up groceries on the way from _his_ apartment to Mark's apartment, that it just stopped being Mark's and it became his, too. 

Mark didn't seem to dispute the ideal at all, especially when many of their sporadic text messages ended in, _see you at home_ , as if Mark were always expecting him to come over. Jack wasn't never _invited_ anymore—he just had a standing invitation to show up whenever he wanted. In fact, Jack texted if he _wasn't_ going to show. In all honesty, the only time he ever really went back to his apartment was to work at his computer, and change clothes out every so often, which usually ended up at Mark's place too.

Again, Jack pretty much loved it. He loved feeling like he had a home. 

Because of the new living arrangements, and the fact Jack's job allowed him to come back home a lot earlier than Mark, he made dinner most nights. A little known fact was that Jack had insanely good cooking skills. He didn't utilize them very often, hadn't really needed to—Jack realized that he was pretty damn lazy when it came to feeding himself. Before he'd met Mark, he lived primarily on takeout and the occasional midnight snack—lord knows why. When he lived with his parents, he cooked for them nearly every night, and logically there was no reason why he didn't cook for himself more often. 

But he liked cooking for himself _and_ Mark. It was quaint, pleasant, and so oddly domestic that Jack just took a therapeutic joy in it. On most nights, the two of them would sit down together, talk about their days, and eat whatever Jack had made that night. 

This went on for months—about four, to be precise. Jack was late in starting dinner one night, getting a little too into the project he'd been working on. That was the one downside to living in a place you didn't work in, Jack realized. He'd gotten so used to spending countless amounts of time on projects, because it wasn't like he had to _leave_. But now that he had moral obligations and places to be, he couldn't spend all of that time doing things.

Jack had barely begun when the sound of the door opening, then closing, indicated Mark's return. There was a brief pause, before Mark called out, “Jack?”

“In here!” 

Jack turned just in time to see Mark poking his head in, a soft smile on his face. He returned the smile quickly—seeing Mark smile always made him smile, silly enough—but it quickly faded as Mark asked, a touch of nervousness in his voice, “Hey. Can we talk for a minute?” 

Apprehension built in his chest as he turned off the stove, shifting to lean against the counter. His fingers gripped the edges of it a little tighter than necessary. A million questions rolled through his mind as he replied, “Yeah, uh—sure. What's up?” 

As if detecting his anxiety, Mark frowned. He bridged the distance between them and leaned in, kissing him softly. Jack raised his hands to grip his shoulders instead of the counter, breathing out slowly as Mark pulled away. He smiled again.

“Don't look so worried,” Mark teased. “It's nothing bad—well, I mean. I hope it's not.” 

“Way to make me feel _not_ worried,” Jack retorted, earning a playful eye-roll from his boyfriend.

Mark didn't pick up the conversation right away, instead choosing to glance around the kitchen for a brief moment. Jack crossed his arms, trying not to appear impatient, but his nerves still gnawed at him—what was Mark stalling for? 

“You know, it's been really nice having you here,” Mark commented, looking back at him, brown eyes sincere. “Every night, I mean. It's really nice knowing that I'll get to see you when I get off work. Not that I hate it or anything, but—you know. I love seeing you and knowing I'll get to see you every night is just great. And well—Jesus, Jack, you make dinner every night. That's like—amazing.” 

Jack offered a shrug, rubbing the back of his neck. “It's not a big deal, really. I mean—I've got the time for it and—it reminds me not to eat like shite, too.” 

“But you don't have to,” Mark reminded him. “And you _do_. Thank you, really. For being here. I know I say it every night but I don't say it enough even then. You're just...I love you so much, you know?” 

His heart swelled. Jack could feel his cheeks heating up, grinning from ear to ear. Mark was grinning back at him as he replied, “I love you too. 'S why I'm doing all of this. I wouldn't otherwise.”

A moment of content silence passed over them then, as if the words hung in the air, resting there, washing over them. Then Mark dug into his pocket, pulling out something that glinted in the light. Jack's heart skipped, then he realized it was—a key?

Mark extended it to him. Jack opened his hand, palm up, and Mark dropped it into his outstretched fingers. It was warm to the touch, obviously from being in his pocket. Another few beats passed, before Jack finally asked, “What's this?”

“A key, obviously,” Mark joked, his tone light. 

It was Jack's turn to roll his eyes. “I got that. For what?”

“For you.” 

He opened his mouth, then closed it. Jack thought of the key that he already technically had, that Mark had given him before, now on the coffee table from where he'd dropped it coming in tonight. He hadn't yet put it on his key ring—didn't feel right, since it wasn't really _his_ , only a spare. He examined it, running his finger along the ridges. It definitely looked like the same thing. 

“It's a key to the apartment,” Mark affirmed his suspicions. “For you.”

“But I have a key,” Jack reminded him. 

Mark stuck his hands into his pockets, fidgeting slightly. He looked down to the floor, avoiding his gaze. “No—well, yeah. You do, but it's not...it's a spare key. That one's yours—if...”

He trailed off, pausing, as if he wasn't sure if he should finish. Then he murmured, “If you want it, I mean.”

It took Jack a few moments to understand what he was getting at. He wrapped his fingers around the key tight, as a smile bloomed on his lips. “Are you asking me to move in with you?”

Mark shrugged haphazardly, failing at hiding the tiny smile reforming. “Maybe. If you want to. Yes, I want you to move in with me. You practically live here anyway—but I wanted to make it official, if you wanted.” 

The key still in his hands, Jack hopped forward and threw his arms around him. Mark wheezed at the sudden onslaught of weight, but immediately wrapped his arms around him in return, squeezing him tight. Jack pressed his face into his shoulder, trying not to laugh from excitement.

“Sign me up,” he said. “Nothing'd make me happier. Besides, the lease on my apartment is almost up anyway.” 

Mark laughed, glowing with happiness as he pressed their lips together again. Jack hummed into the kiss as Mark pressed him back against the counter.

“Lucky me,” Mark whispered, pressing their foreheads together. 

Jack thought he was the lucky one, but didn't voice this aloud. Instead, he closed his eyes, tangling his fingers in Mark's hair as he resumed their kiss, deciding that _this_ , the feeling of love bursting within him—not the apartment—was what felt like home.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos are always, always appreciated.


End file.
